


and someday spring will come again

by ikuzonos



Category: Dangan Ronpa, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Gen, NDRV3 Spoilers, Post-Canon, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, are you ready to be miserable because i'm sure as hell not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 03:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12356586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikuzonos/pseuds/ikuzonos
Summary: [Major Endgame NDRV3 Spoilers]Off all the little things in the world that they've carved out for each other, Himiko thinks that she likes this one the least.-The three remaining survivors face a dark and merciless winter.





	and someday spring will come again

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @idaate for beta reading!

White hot flames come up from the stove, scorching the bottom of the frying pan. Harukawa lets out a hiss at that, pulling her hand away quickly.

Himiko watches her from the sofa of their apartment, unsure of what to say or do, or if she should react at all. It might just make the situation worse.

“Dinner’s going to be late,” she states, gritting her teeth together.

Himiko digs her nails into the faux leather sofa, then turns back around to look at the television. There's a movie on about horses that Saihara really likes, and Himiko’s coming to enjoy it herself.

The boy in question is huddles on a nearby armchair, glued to his phone. Himiko spends a moment wondering if he even heard Harukawa yell.

His eyes are glazed over again.

It must be a bad night. It's _always_ a bad night, but especially so this time.

There's a blanket on the floor, a red, fluffy one with a reindeer embroidered on. Himiko leans over and picks it up, swinging it around her shoulders. It's usually fairly warm in their shared apartment, and right now, the fire stoked by Harukawa’s cussing only adds to the heat.

Deep down, Himiko’s heart is cold. Winter is only a few days away, and she's not prepared for it. Preliminary frost and ice have already begun forming, and the ugly wind nips at all their noses, but this will be where the true struggle begins.

Not that they live in a little hut in the woods, and have to hunt for every scrap of food, but sometimes it feels like it. A winter of their own creation.

Off all the little things in the world that they've carved out for each other, Himiko thinks that she likes this one the least.

She slumps on her side, watching the now sideways horses sing about friendship, and hums along off key. Might as well.

Behind her, Harukawa huffs, “Food’s ready. Come and get it.” It's coupled with the unmistakable sound of the frying pan slamming against their rickety table.

Himiko rolls off the couch in a heap, then scrambles around the tangles of the blanket as she gets up.

Saihara hasn't moved, so Himiko shakes him from his daze. Even then, it takes him a moment to get a grip on himself.

“H-Huh?”

Himiko tugs on his arm, “Come and eat. Harukawa made dinner.”

Saihara nods hesitantly, clicking off his phone and hiding it in his pocket a bit too fast. Himiko decides not to question it, and walks over towards the small table that came with the apartment.

In the time it took them both to get over, Harukawa had served them up a fairly even amount of scrambled eggs.

“Sorry about this,” she mutters, feeling blindly for a utensil, “I'll make it up to you.”

Himiko says softly, “It's fine, Harukawa. Not your fault.”

Saihara doesn't say anything, and busies himself by shovelling food into his mouth. Himiko can't tell if he's actually hungry, or avoiding conversation.

“I meant to cook something more adventurous, but-” her eyes flicker towards the sink, which is erupting with dark smoke- “I’m not a good chef yet.”

“S’okay,” Himiko says, “We’ll help you improve.”

Harukawa doesn't seem convinced, and takes a bite of her eggs instead of replying.

Himiko looks down at her plate, nerves chomping at the lining of her stomach. She doesn't know if the eggs are safe for her to eat, but at the same time, she doesn't want to hurt Harukawa's feelings.

Gingerly, she spears some of the eggs with a twisted fork - because her hands shake too much for chopsticks - and lifts them into her mouth.

They taste like burnt rubber mixed with chlorine. Himiko reaches out for a paper napkin and covers her face with it. Discreetly, or at least, she hopes so, Himiko spits the eggs into it and wraps it in a tight ball.

Saihara is either too numb to notice what he's eating, or he doesn't care anymore, because he doesn't have a problem with them.

Himiko smushes the eggs with her fork, trying to avoid eating them while Harukawa is still at the table. Every so often, she brings a fleck to her mouth, and barely manages to swallow it.

Eventually, Harukawa pushes her chair away from the table, her ears red, “It tastes like shit, doesn't it. Don't bother answering, I know you both hated it.”

“Harukawa-”

“Save it, Yumeno,” she gets to her feet, snatching the pan and dumping it in the smouldering sink, “Let’s just order takeout again.”

The blanket slips from her shoulders. Himiko gets out of her chair, leaving Saihara alone at the table. Somehow, she's not hungry anymore.

-

“Your move, Mister Muffins,” Himiko mumbles to the white tiger cub plush that sits across from her. She’s been playing checkers with herself - using a battered chess set - for the past couple of hours. Saihara had offered to teach her chess a few times, back when he was still talking to them regularly, but Himiko had refused.

Now, she was wishing that she had taken him up on that offer, because there was only so much person versus stuffed animal checkers that a girl could stand.

Himiko picks up Mr. Muffins and guides his paw so that he can push one of the pieces forwards, when it topples over and moves three other pieces. For a moment, she stares at the now damaged board, then uses Mr. Muffins to keep sweeping the rest of the pieces back into the broken cardboard box they came in.

“You’re a sore loser, aren’t you?” Himiko coos to him. Mr. Muffins stares at her in silence, his eyes like little glass marbles without focal points.

Except that’s exactly what his eyes are. Himiko sighs and lies on her side.

The carpet feels hard against her face. She shifts a few times, trying to use the sleeves of her big Depression Sweater that Harukawa got for her as a pillow, before giving up and shuffling towards her bed. The digital clock on her bedside table changes from _11:56_ to _11:57._ Himiko looks at the little red lights, evaluating her life choices. Although, it’s really not the latest that she’s ever stayed awake. Just the week before, she snuggled on the couch under a blanket and marathoned movies until six in the morning.

Harukawa had chastised her for that. Himiko closes her fists around her sleeves.

She supposes that before lying down in bed and staring up at the ceiling for eight hours in lieu of sleeping, she should at least take her medication. And brush her teeth. Brushing her teeth sounds like a fun idea.

Himiko pushes open her door, crosses the thinly carpeted hallway, and enters the bathroom. The tiles are a hideous yellow, and the olive green walls cause too many flashbacks. She keeps her eyes glued to the floor as she feels for the sink.

Three pills, down the hatch with a swish of water. Himiko holds the bottle in her hand a moment too long, considering taking three more. It won’t help her sleep, she decides, and shoves them back in the medicine cabinet.

After that, she brushes her teeth with the red plastic brush that’s kept in an old tin can beside the sink. She finishes up quickly, and prepares to leave, when she spies a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. Himiko spins around to see Harukawa sitting in the tub, fully clothed.

“Um. Are you okay?” she asks, peering at her.

Harukawa looks up, “I didn’t realize you were here, sorry. Do you need the bathtub? I can-”

Himiko shakes her head and kneels down. They’re about the same height now. She says, “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t do that,” Harukawa responds instantly. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, “I mean… I’ll be fine. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Himiko replies, reaching into the tub and taking the dark haired girl’s hand.

Harukawa chuckles bitterly, her voice creaking like a set of floorboards, “You’ve got me there. Tell you what, we’ll both go to bed.”

Himiko helps pull her up, and the two leave the bathroom, crossing back into Himiko’s room. Harukawa unfolds the blankets, and the smaller girl climbs up.

“Try to get some rest,” Harukawa says, tucking her in.

Himiko nods, “O-Okay. You too though, okay? H-Harumaki?”

Harukawa’s eyes widen at the old nickname. She quickly relaxes, and forms a tentative smile, “I will. Take care… Himiko.”

She presses her lips to Himiko’s cheek before darting out of the room, leaving Himiko alone with a ceiling full of fading glowstars, and an elevated heartbeat.

-

The yellow duck slippers on her feet squeak against the tile as Himiko sleepily wanders into the kitchen. It’s colder than usual in the apartment this morning.

She slept for once, which is new. Somehow, it leaves her even more exhausted than the insomnia does, but she supposes that it’s nothing a cup of coffee won’t fix, provided that it’s half sugar.

On her way over to the coffee maker, a breeze tussels her hair. Himiko turns to see the window over the sink open. She scoots over and closes it, then heads back over the the tiny metal machine. Once the beans are grinding, she opens the cupboard and retrieves her favourite mug, the one with the fluffy alpaca on it.

“Oh, good morning…”

Himiko turns around to see Saihara coming in, the bags under his eyes intense, “I didn’t know you were awake, Yumeno-san.”

Himiko shrugs, “Haven’t been up long. D’you want any coffee?”

Saihara yawns, “Sure, if that’s okay. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Himiko says, reaches back into the cupboard for a second mug.

It’s been a long time since she had a proper conversation with Saihara. Maybe there’s hope for the three of them after all.

With two cups of steaming hot coffee in her hands, one drowned in sugar and the other black, Himiko waddles to the table and sets the mugs down. Saihara gratefully takes a drink of his.

“Thank you,” he says, drumming his fingers on the wood varnish.

Himiko smiles, holding his mug anywhere but the handle, in order to keep her hands warm.

They don't say anything for some time, just taking in the morning air.

Himiko hums, “Do you think that Haruma… Harukawa will want some coffee too?”

Saihara shrugs, “Maybe. I think she's still asleep, though, so don't pour anything yet.”

“Mmkay…”

An hour passes. Himiko drains her mug, Saihara has another cup, and Harukawa hasn't surfaced from her bedroom.

Himiko scoots her chair away from the table, “I'm gonna check on her. She doesn't usually sleep this late.”

“Okay,” Saihara says, absorbed in his phone.

Himiko skids across the tile to the hallway, then knocks on the door to Harukawa’s room. She waits, then knocks again when there isn't a response.

Her heart pumps against her throat. Himiko turns the knob, pushing the door open a crack. She's rarely in the other girl’s room, so she doesn't know what to expect.

Harukawa’s bed is empty. The door swings open the whole way, revealing a room that could have been from a magazine, it was so neat.

“S-Saihara? Could she have gone to the store?” Himiko calls out, unable to turn her head away.

Saihara shouts back, “Her keys are still here. And the door is locked.”

Himiko takes a step into the room, her slippers squeaking on the freshly waxed wooden floor. There's no trace of any personal effects, only the second hand furniture that came with the apartment.

She moves farther in, looking for a place that Harukawa might be hiding in.

“This isn't funny anymore,” she murmurs.

Pushed up against the wall is a cardboard box, the only thing out of place. Himiko kneels next to it, shaking.

It's filled with clothes and small items that Himiko recognizes vaguely. The most poignant object, is Harukawa’s phone, which sits on top of the pile.

She reaches out for it, when it lights up by itself, shaking against the cardboard. Himiko snatches the ringing phone answers it, “Harumaki! Are you okay?!”

She hears Saihara from the kitchen before his voice makes its way out of the cheap speakers, “O-Oh.”

Himiko’s arm goes limp, and the phone slips from her grasp. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Saihara enters the room, and sits down beside her, rubbing her shoulder, “It’s… probably a misunderstanding. It’s going to be okay, Yumeno-san.”

“The kitchen window was open,” is all Himiko can bring herself to respond with.

Open just wide enough for a person to slip through.

-

Sleet soaks her gloves as she shifts through the bushes. Himiko winces as yet another thorn pokes at her fingers, but she continues to look, shifting forwards at a snail’s pace.

“She has to be here,” Himiko says definitively, “We’re just looking in the wrong place. C’mon, Saihara, let’s keep looking.”

They’ve turned the alley under the kitchen window upside down, but it’s only gotten them exhaustion and abhorrent amounts of precipitation in their pores.

From underneath a red umbrella, Saihara says, “I don’t think that she’s here, Yumeno-san. Really, we’re going to freeze out here.”

Himiko shakes her head, and turns her head towards the stack of garbage bags that are pushed up against the crumbling brick wall, “Just a little longer. I’m sure… I’m sure she…”

“You’ve already looked through the pile,” Saihara reminds her, “Please, the rain might as well be ice right now. Harukawa-san… is somewhere else.”

Himiko spins around on her heels, “No! If she jumped from the window, then she had to have landed somewhere down here. It’s the only option!”

Saihara responds by pointing upwards. Himiko follows his arm, squinting as the rain gets into her eyes, until she sees what his point is.

“The fire escape…”

He says, “It’s right below our window. She could have jumped onto it, then taken the stairs to the ground. There’s… next to no chance that she actually landed down here.”

Himiko’s shoulders slump, and tears burn in her eyes. Saihara takes a few steps closer, covering her with the umbrella, and she hugs him tight, crying into his plastic raincoat.

“I-It’s not fair… Why did she leave?” Himiko whispers, stabbing her nails into his back.

Saihara wraps his free arm around her and pulls her close, resting his chin on top of her head. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. There’s enough words hanging in the air to write a speech with, and Himiko doesn’t want any of them.

-

Himiko shoves the cardboard box with Harukawa’s belongings into the back of her closet, and covers it with old clothes, leaving it to gather dust. No point in shifting through more painful memories than they already have to.

-

Her hand comes in contact with Saihara’s face before she can even think about what she’s doing. The harsh clap of contact echoes throughout the apartment, and fills her ears to the brim.

Himiko takes a step back, her hand stinging. Saihara rubs his now red face, looking stunned.

“I guess I deserved that,” he mutters.

Himiko hisses, “How could you say something like that?! I’m not letting her get swept under the rug like some kind of crud on the floor!”

Saihara replies, “It’s not what I meant. What I’m trying to say is-”

“I don’t care!” Himiko shouts, squeezing her hand to stop herself from slapping him again, “You’re _awful,_ Saihara!”

She leaps off of the sofa and darts down the hall to her room. She leans against the door, lodging her feet against the end of her bed to prevent Saihara from getting in.

Instantly, her eyes start to water, and the tears burn as they stream down her face.

“Don't report her missing… Why would he…”

Himiko continues to sit like that, crying until she runs empty. Her throat grows tighter and tighter, sending waves of pain down her spine.

“Yumeno-san?”

Saihara's on the other side of the door. She shifts slightly and croaks, “Go away.”

There’s a long pause. At first, Himiko thinks that he’s left her alone, when the floor in the hall squeaks, and she feels a distinct pressure on the door.

“I know that you’re angry with me,” he says quietly, “and I understand why. It wasn’t my intention to upset you… I should have been more respectful.”

Himiko grumbles, “Y-Yeah. You should have.”

Saihara takes a long breath, “I do have reasoning for what I said, though.”

“You don’t want to go after Harukawa!” Himiko shouts, her voice cracking in half, “I can’t just sit on my hands and let something happen to her!”

Saihara replies, “You’re not ‘letting’ anything happen to her. She can make her own decisions. And… I think that if she really did leave us like this… maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

Himiko brings her knees up to her chest and hugs them close, pressing her forehead against the kneecaps. Fresh tears leak from her eyes as she whispers, “I don’t want to lose her. I… we’ve let too many people die as it is.”

Saihara doesn’t say anything for a long time. Himiko knows that she’s won.

They still don’t report Harukawa missing, though, so her victory is short-lived and hollow.

-

She scrubs the bloodstains out of the bathtub, erasing all traces of Harukawa’s existence from their tiny apartment.

-

Static blares from the radio that sits on the kitchen counter. Himiko glares at it from her position at the table, hoping that the station will change if she stares at it hard enough. After a good six minutes, she grumbles and gets up to fix it herself, since Saihara doesn’t seem to have noticed.

She turns the dial until actual sound comes out of it again, landing on a classical music station. It's not her favourite, but it's really not the worst either. Anything sounds better than the static, even a snare beat on repeat.

Himiko realizes her mistake a second too late, when Clair de Lune crackles out of the speakers, and Saihara goes stiff.

She reaches over to flip the switch again, but Saihara’s already leapt to his feet and ran down the hall to his room.

“Oh no…” Himiko murmurs, leaping over the tiles and onto the carpet. She follows to Saihara’s door and attempts to twist the knob, but it won't budge. She waits a moment, then bangs on the door.

“Saihara! Open up!”

No response.

Himiko’s palms begin to sweat. She knocks again, with either more conviction, or more anxiety, “Please, Saihara! Open the door!”

He doesn't say anything, but if she listens closely, she can hear his sobs.

“I-If you don’t open the door, I’ll break it down!” Himiko shouts, raising her fists and angling her body in preparation.

There’s a small click from inside the room, and Saihara pokes his head out through a tiny crack. His eyes are red like stoplights.

Himiko pulls the wood from his grasp, then hugs him tight, squeezing him so much that he makes a choking noise.

They sit on the floor of his room, crying to the sound of Debussy’s most famous work. Saihara soaks every tissue in the freshly opened box that was on the bathroom counter, while Himiko leans up against him so they can share warmth.

“Why did I survive?” he croaks into his hand, “I… I didn’t deserve to.”

Himiko closes her eyes, “None of us did. But we have to live with that.”

Saihara mumbles, “I… I can’t. I can’t _live_ with any of this, not when she’s still in my head.”

“I know,” Himiko responds, thinking of the wrong girl, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Saihara grabs onto her hand and sobs into his sleeve again.

-

The opening month of the year bleeds into February, and Himiko finds herself mentally throwing a party for a girl she hasn’t seen since her own birthday.

-

Saihara never talks about her.

Of course, ‘her’ can refer to three people, and Saihara avoids them all in different manners.

The first is Kaede, to nobody’s surprise. If she comes up during conversations, it’s during the worst days, after Saihara emerges from his room, old piano melodies echoing from behind the door. Himiko supposes that she can’t blame him for that silence- having taking a similar stance in regards to Tenko.

They won’t say very much, just trade guarded quips, and stare at the official art on what remains of the _Dangan Ronpa_ website.

The second is Harukawa. If Saihara brings her up, it’s only in conjunction with Momota, and never for very long. He hates focusing on her, and seems to do nothing but reminisce about training with her, as though she too was killed during the final season of the reality show that haunts all their dreams.

Occasionally, Himiko wonders if that false truth would be better than the harsh reality of her abandonment.

And the third is Shirogane. Saihara hasn’t said her name even once since they escaped, but if they ever find her picture when sifting through old photoshoot records, he immediately skips to the next image.

Out of respect for him, Himiko doesn’t talk about her either, but she can’t help but feel at least a little bit sorry for the ringleader. Even if she was terrible to the core, she was a victim too.

Saihara never talks about her, but the silence that results from that decision is overbearing.

-

Himiko misses Harukawa more than she misses Tenko. She hasn’t figured out whether or not that’s a good thing yet.

-

The remains of their half-hearted attempt to cook dinner fall into the sink. Even with a recipe book, and access to any ingredient that they could ask for, they can’t make anything more difficult than plain pasta with butter, and even that tastes like garbage.

Himiko stares at the faded noodles, wondering what could have gone wrong, besides everything. She takes a breath and lifts her head, only to slump when faced with the tightly latched kitchen window.

She’s gone. It’s been three months, and there’s been no sign of her, not even during their weekly trek to the grocery store.

“Yumeno-san?”

Himiko jumps and glances over her shoulder, biting her lip when her sense come back to her, “H-Hi, Saihara.”

He takes a step back, regarding her with caution, “You seem tense. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Himiko wrings her hands together, “N-No! I mean… I just need some water. Don’t worry about me.”

To prove her lacklustre point, Himiko sticks her head under the faucet and turns on the tap, lukewarm water pouring into her mouth.

Saihara makes a tiny grunt, “If you insist…”

She waits until Saihara is surely a safe distance away, then removes her head and spits out the excess water. It tastes like sulphur.

Himiko stares out the window at the moon, rocking back and forth to the tempo of the music creaking from the radio, as small snowflakes dust the nearby rooftops.

A good hour passes before she hears the shower turn on. Himiko tears her gaze away, a weak impulse prodding at the back of her brain.

Saihara won’t know. Saihara _won’t know._

She runs for the door.

Himiko dons her warmest winter coat, snow boots, and her handknit toque and scarf. From the pocket of her coat, she produces her gloves and tugs them on, and takes a deep breath. Her keys hang from from a crooked nail on the wall, next to Harukawa’s dusty pair. She snatches them and darts out the front door, locking it behind her.

After leaving the apartment, escaping the building isn’t much of a hassle. The stairwell is empty, so it’s a quick run down to the ground floor, and out the front door into the snow.

She wanders down the streets for a while, having no place in particular in mind. A few blocks down, she crosses the street and roams into a small public park. There isn’t much to see there besides a single trail that leads to a playground, and a couple of wooden benches.

Himiko continues to walk aimlessly, kicking up dirt and snow as she moves. The sky gets darker by the moment, and the flurry around her isn’t much help in aiding her vision.

She rests for a moment under a large tree, the wide branches temporarily protecting her from the onslaught of snow. Once her heartbeat eases, she sets out again, faster this time, only to almost instantly trip over a tree root and tumble into a ditch.

Himiko spits out a stick, coughing and gagging as dirt spills out of her mouth. She wipes her face a few times, shaking from the cold, only to stop entirely.

Blue lips, a twisted, broken leg, a light dusting of snow, and wide, terrified eyes. But even with these features, Himiko registers the sick, ugly truth in front her eyes.

Maki Harukawa lies dead before her.

-

Everything in the waiting room is made of steel. Himiko sits on one of the chairs, not remembering properly how she got there.

It doesn’t feel real, the phone call, the ambulance, the questioning. The only sensation that she can properly recall is the stark bolt of _fear_ that coursed through her like lightning at the sight of Harukawa’s corpse.

 _Corpse_.

Himiko retches onto the floor.

A sliding door on the far side of the room opens, and a young woman with choppy hair steps out, looking concerned, “Excuse me… are you Himiko Yumeno?”

In any other world, she would have considered lying, but Himiko doesn’t have the strength to do anything but nod, tears rolling down her face.

The woman rushes up to her, passes her a tissue, then says, “This was on that girl’s body. I don’t know what it contains, but I hope it helps you.”

She hands Himiko a crisp, white envelope, with her name written on it in Harukawa’s stiff writing. Her fingers tighten around the paper.

The woman says, “It wasn’t your fault. She was dead for a good hour by the time you found her.”

Himiko flashes back to the hour she spent in the kitchen, staring outside instead of leaving. If she hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t procrastinated, then Harukawa might be hooked up to an IV in a hospital room, not lying cold in the processing room of a morgue.

“I could have... “ she croaks, “I should have saved her.”

The woman rubs her back, “There wasn’t anything you could have done. According to our main doctor, her leg was already broken when she fell into the ditch. You couldn’t be at fault for that either.”

Her fists close tightly. The kitchen window taunts her.

“There’s someone coming in from the department to interview you,” the woman says softly, “Would you mind coming with me so that you can talk to her?”

Himiko doesn’t respond, so the woman takes her arm and tugs her with an iron grip, leading her to _another_ steel room with no distinguishing characteristics, locking her inside.

She lowers herself down onto another brick hard chair, resting her head on her hands. Her phone keeps buzzing in her pocket, probably Saihara, desperate to contact her, but she doesn’t do anything besides click it off.

It’s the longest night of her life.

A few minute pass, and the door opens. Coming in is an older woman with black hair that scarcely grazes her chin. A Team _Dangan Ronpa_ emblem is sewn onto her suit jacket, and Himiko retches again.

The lady sits down across from her, and examines her with a cold, unfeeling gaze, “I take it that you’ve heard all the news about Harukawa’s passing, so I’ll save you that mess. I’m here to discuss what happens after.”

Himiko doesn’t tear her eyes away from the logo, “You killed her. You killed her, like you killed everyone else. You _disgust_ me.”

She pauses, a flicker of a wound flashing across her face, before she says, “I’m sorry that you feel this way. Believe me, I wish that they never stopped using actors. But that’s not why I came here.”

“Then why are you here?” Himiko hisses.

The woman responds, “Now that Harukawa is deceased, we need to talk about how the media will handle this, and any family members that may be involved.”

Himiko says, “ _I_ am her family. Saihara and I both are. The media will just… romanticize what happened to her. Gloss over that it’s your fault.”

The woman takes another long pause, “When this disaster of a show first started, it was a school project. It was all an act… and then people liked it, and we lost our heads with power. Years and years later, I couldn’t get them to end it… Before you and your friends, of course.”

Himiko leans back in her uncomfortable excuse for a chair, “Why should I believe you?”

“You don’t have to,” she says, looking down at her wrinkled hands, “But I’ve been on the project as long as anyone could… and I hate it more than just about anyone.”

She looks tired, almost as tired as Himiko feels.

“But enough about me. Right now, my focus is your future,” the woman says, producing a clipboard, “I need you to read and understand these terms… and I’m very sorry for your loss.”

The document attached to the clipboard is an agreement for Himiko to not publicly blame Team _Dangan Ronpa_ for Harukawa’s death. Himiko nearly snaps the pen the woman hands her before she feels compelled to sign it.

-

They let her go after another two hours. Himiko stands outside in the snow, and fishes out her phone. Twenty-eight missed calls and one hundred and forty-eight unread texts from Saihara.

She hits the redial button, bringing her phone up to her freezing cold ear. He picks up after half a second.

“ _Yumeno-san!”_ he shrieks, “What on earth happened to you?! I’ve been worried sick!”

Himiko sucks in a deep breath, “I… I’m sorry.”

Saihara mutters, “It’s okay, I’m not angry, I just thought that something had happened to-”

“Harukawa’s dead,” Himiko interrupts, her voice creaking like a broken record, “She’s… she’s gone, Saihara.”

He goes silent for a long minute. When he does speak, his voice is almost inaudible, “How… How do you…”

“I found her.”

Saihara lets out a shaky breath, “I-I see… Where are you, Yumeno-san?”

Himiko looks around at the darkened street, before admitting, “I don’t know.”

Saihara whispers, “Stay right where you are… and keep your phone on. I’ll find you.”

She agrees, then hangs up, shoving her phone back in her pocket. Saihara arrives within half an hour, looking out of breath. Himiko runs towards him, throwing her arms around him tightly.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he murmurs, “I thought I’d lost you too.”

Himiko sniffles, shoving her face into his snow covered jacket. Under her breath, she murmurs, “I’m scared.”

Saihara grips her close to him, “I’m so sorry.”

It takes them a long time to get home.

-

The nightmares about Harukawa continue into the spring, and every time she wakes, she finds herself staring at the unopened envelope on her desk that contains the other girl’s last words. Himiko doesn’t cry, but her lips repeat the syllables that make up her name until she falls back into a chasm of restless darkness.

-

_Himiko-_

_I’m sorry that I couldn’t make you happy. I constantly upset and worried you and Saihara… and there’s nothing I can do to make up for it._

_You’re a good person, and you’d better live a long damn life. Thank you for caring about me, even though I didn’t deserve it._

~~_I love you._ ~~

_-Harukawa._


End file.
